


happy birthday, dear heartache

by allsovacant



Series: fluff & romance [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Johnlock is canon, Light Angst, Love in between words, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pining, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Post-Reichenbach, Soft John Watson, Soft Sherlock Holmes, They finally found each other 🤧, do not post to other site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28606134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsovacant/pseuds/allsovacant
Summary: Sherlock comes home on his birthday two years after dismantling Moriarty's network.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: fluff & romance [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1142561
Comments: 17
Kudos: 73





	happy birthday, dear heartache

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, Sherlock. 💖

The street of Marylebone is empty when his brother’s car stopped in front of the 221 flat. Nodding to his driver, Sherlock grabbed his duffel bag and stepped out of the chilly January evening. He stood there for a moment as he watched the car disappear around the curb. 

He knew he should’ve gone to a pub or something first. It’s his birthday after all. He felt his mouth quirk into a bitter smile. He remembered how John fuzz about when he’d learned about his birthday. Dragging him here and there, until the both of them got drunk. He had to admit, he loved it when John’s attention was all on him. 

But for the two years that he had gone after ‘The Fall’ to dismantle Moriarty’s network, he knew John had moved on. The last time Mycroft sent an update about John’s life after him, his former best friend was ready to pop the question to some blonde haired woman. Not that he cared. He stopped caring for anyone when he was sent abroad. He stopped feeling even after being tortured. Even if the multiple welts and bruises and scars were all still fresh beneath his skin. It was time to come back. It was time to ‘live’ again. Even if only for himself once again.

He took a deep breath, savouring the smell of the evening. His gaze roaming over the window of 221B. Judging by the darkened window, no one’s home. His grip tightens when the front door lock suddenly opens. And he was welcomed by the sight of one of his favourite people in the world.

“Oh, Sherlock. Welcome home, love.”  
Martha Hudson smiles at him with tears in her eyes falling freely in her cheeks. And that’s when he only allowed himself to break once again. He walked the space between them to hug his landlady. He couldn’t help but wince a bit when her hug went tighter.

“Oh my goodness! Are you still in pain?”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes… I… the scars are still fresh underneath. I was still… captured until two months ago. When I finished everything I needed to do.”

Mrs. Hudson nodded at him, and Sherlock knew she was trying to prevent himself from asking more questions. She went on petting his curls which he would’ve found ridiculous on an ordinary day, but he let her. 

“Well, your home awaits. Go on up and take a rest.” She said with a smile as she emphasized the word home. 221B is his home. That’s for sure.

Stepping inside Sherlock was welcomed by the smell of Mrs. Hudson’s well-aged flat. At least, that hadn’t changed. Unless, his landlady would scrap her old-fashioned wallpaper and for once buy a new one. 

He was about to take the steps when Mrs. Hudson laid a hand in his arm. 

“Don’t think for one second I forgot. Happy Birthday, Sherlock.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I appreciated it.”

She nodded at him. “Whatever happens from now on, I’ll still be here.”

Sherlock sighed. There goes the motherly side of her.

“No more secrets, Sherlock. You could’ve told me there was an assassin in my flat! I would’ve clubbed him!”

A chuckle freely escapes from his lips. “Of course you would. But I wouldn’t want to compromise the mission.” He waved a hand in the air. “It’s all good now. Don’t bother yourself. You’re safe. And as long as I can keep it that way. I will.”

Tears once again formed in her eyes and Sherlock went for a hug. He did miss her. She patted her back before pulling away.

“Alright. Go on and rest. You look…”  
She gestured wildly to his entirety and Sherlock understood.

A shower is what he needs.

He waited until she closed and locked the door to her flat before he took the familiar steps of the stairs towards B. But for every step he took, he was reminded of what he had lost. John’s smile, John’s laugh, John’s face when he gets angry. But most of all, John’s face when he praises him. By the time he reached the last step and fished the key out of his duffel bag, he was all ready to just crawl into bed and cry his heart out. Sherlock doesn’t do emotions. But right at this moment, when he’s feeling an onslaught of memories and his scars are starting to ache again, he just wanted to… rest. The two year-exhaustion coupled with the last few months of chasing leads for SIS, getting caught, tortured, and finally coming home from Munich were beginning to crash on him.

Sherlock twisted the knob of the door and of course, he knew where to look first. John’s chair—which was supposed to be empty, until it wasn’t. Because there, John Watson stood behind it, arms crossed over his chest comfortably eyeing him in silence. 

Silence that was really loud as they stared at each other’s eyes. And then John stood straight and began walking toward him. He was going to get punched. That’s all there is to do. And Sherlock was alright about that, he can endure some more pain from John. But then he was awarded with that beautiful smile he once saw the first time they rode a cabbie together to their first crime scene and Sherlock felt that familiar ache stabbed him in the chest. And he welcomed it. 

His grip from his duffel bag loosens and Sherlock lets the thing fall to the floor with a muted thud as John Watson stood arms length in front of him.

He cleared his throat which felt so dry, and then Sherlock closed his eyes. He waited and waited for that punch to come, but what he didn’t expect was the soft touch over his forehead causing him to open his eyes.

What surprised him more was the unshed tears from John’s ocean blue eyes, making them glisten. 

Finally, finally he gave in. For two years, he asked Mycroft not to say his best friend’s name. Which earned him a pair of raised eyebrows. But one that Mycroft hadn’t questioned. For two years, he refused to watch the news just in case some bloody reporter mentions his death and the people he left behind. For two years, he only called John’s name in his sleep. He only asked for forgiveness in his nightmares. But now that he’s actually here facing him again, all Sherlock thought of doing was to say John’s name out loud. So he did, with every unspoken feeling he hid.

He whispered John’s name like he always did when they’re having a stakeout.

And again when they’re having the most normal conversation over tea and biscuits.

And again when he used to taunt his best friend.

And again when in the middle of a crime scene.

And for every one of it, John smiled at him. A smile that was full of understanding. Like he was telling him everything will be alright. That he was understood. And for the first time in two years, Sherlock let himself cry. He let his tears flow. He let his guard down. He let the longing and yearning and regret pull him under. And when his knees gave in, he sagged onto John and John held him. 

And when he whimpered as his bones ached from the pain he went through, John loosened his hold onto him, then guided him to his chair. John whispered things to him in between tears. How John understood everything. How he doesn’t resent Sherlock anymore. How Mrs. Hudson told him he should listen to his explanation first. How there was no one in John’s life that could replace what Sherlock made him feel. What Sherlock made him realise. How he was willing to wait. That Sherlock remains to be the bravest and cleverest man for him. Some words Sherlock barely understood through his emotionally and physically exhausted mind and body. But it all made him feel safe and secured. And as Sherlock let his body relax for the first time, there in John’s arms, he let the sleep finally pull him in.

••••••

When Sherlock blinked into consciousness, it was still dark. Probably dawn, but he couldn’t care less. All he cared about was John. John was still there. And he’s still snuggled in John's arms. His head resting against the man’s shoulder. Warm and comfortable and home. Sherlock felt his neck flush at the realisation that he’s in between John’s legs. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking of anything beyond friendship right now. But what John is making him feel, he was so beyond it already.

“John…?” 

“Hmm?”

Sherlock contemplated his approach. How does one ask about the change of something he doesn’t even have any idea what it was about.

“What is… this?” He finished lamely. He looked up to see John smiling down at him. All soft and handsome and.. ugh. Once again Sherlock buried his face on John’s shoulder. His face was warming.

“What is this? Hmm… this is me comforting you and... I don't know Sherlock. Maybe we should take it a step at a time? And we still have explanations to discuss—Like faking your death and not even telling me a glimpse of the truth of why you did it? I mean, I should be mad at something or someone right now. I was. I still am. A bit. But that’s on myself… and no longer directed to you.”

Sherlock tensed. He deflated into John’s arms and thought of pulling away. He couldn’t take John’s rejection, not now, he was feeling too vulnerable. But John refused to let him go and still held him tighter.

“Nope. You’re not going anywhere.”  
John declared in a firm voice that made Sherlock shudder. “I’m not going to let you go now.”

“John…”

“We’ll have the ‘talk’ some other time.. But for now, I just want to celebrate your birthday again, like we always did.”

Sherlock smiled. “I can’t drink yet. Meds and alcohol do not go well, John.”

“Who says alcohol? I’m making you tea. And I made the reservation at Angelo’s later.”

John patted him on the thigh and Sherlock stood up. He removed his coat as John went to the kitchen to fix their tea.

Placing his coat on the hook, Sherlock then went to the corner to light up his favourite lamp. Afterwards, he went to the kitchen to watch John make tea. It was the simplest thing they used to do back then, and even after everything that happened, it was like nothing had changed—except for the deeper meaning of feelings Sherlock could almost feel crackling in the air.

Feeling bold of himself, he stood behind John, and slowly he wrapped his arms around John’s tummy. The latter leaned back at him, head twisted to the side towards him, both of them waiting for the beat of their hearts to sync. 

“Happy Birthday, Sherlock.” John whispered. 

And when John smiled and leaned up at him for a kiss, Sherlock met John halfway. 

Welcome home, to me. Sherlock thought.

Mrs. Hudson was right. He's home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3 I appreciate each and everyone of you who have commented in my works last year. Now, we welcome 2021, hopefully, everything will get the better. Hopefully, the world will start to heal. Keep safe and please observe the protocols for your own safety. Happy New Year!!  
> \- Leev
> 
> P.S.
> 
> The title came from the song with the same title, written by Archie Jordan and Mack David, and recorded by American country music artist Barbara Mandrell. It was released in January 1984 as the first single from the album Clean Cut. (Wiki) — the song lyrics doesn't have anything to do with the story though. It was a sad song nonetheless. 💔


End file.
